


Phantom Pain

by Delirious21



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, ish, what should've happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: Megatron thought he'd never get Orion Pax back. It would be a miracle, if he believed in that sort of thing. Tension rises, and they get the same result every time they meet.(What should have happened in TFP ep Orion Pax pt. 1)





	Phantom Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I know some stuff is off compared to the show and its timeline and all that fun stuff, but enjoy!

Optimus Prime losing his memory was, perhaps, the best thing to happen in a long time. Orion Pax, sweet and inquisitive, was back. After how many centuries of desperate, frantic, unprecedented war, Megatron felt content. Content to sit and read with Orion curled up to him in their berth. Tapping the arm of his throne, he made a note of things he wanted to do with Orion. His first day, so far, he’d spent wandering the ship, talking to everyone, wide eyed and anything but timid. The drones didn’t know how to react, talking to a boundless, harmless version of Optimus Prime while their leader watched from afar. It was disorienting to say in the least. Fortunately, the only sign of Optimus was the matrix-altered body he inhabited. If nothing else, Megatron was convinced he could live with that. 

It was hard, not having Orion with him at every waking moment, but the mech wasn’t one for staying put, he needed to explore new places before he could settle. If it was his nature or instinct, Megatron wasn’t sure. The coming days promised to be taxing, since the ship was too low on energon to travel far, and the Autobots were certain to try something. 

The doors hissed open and clacking pedes filled Megatron’s irregularly peaceful silence. Starscream rounded the throne, servos on his hips. 

“Lord Megatron, what are your plans with Opti—”

“Orion,” he snapped, claws digging into the throne arms. “And my plans, Starscream, are none of your concern.”

“I humbly disagree, master.”

Megatron’s servo was around Starscream’s throat in a flurry of movement. He towered over the whining mech, optics glaring daggers into his head. “ _ Optimus Prime _ is dead.” He tossed the smaller mech aside and headed for the door. “ _ Orion Pax _ is a loyal comrade.”

Orion was in the medibay with Knockout and Soundwave when Megatron found him. Leaning in the doorway, he nodded to dismiss Soundwave, Orion’s temporary bodyguard. Orion glanced up from the exam table when the spymaster moved, and his optics flashed when they met Megatron’s. His faceplates tinted blue and he quickly looked away. 

Knockout, from between Orion’s legs, snapped, “Close that door! Or do you  _ want  _ a crowd?”

Orion groaned, hiding his faceplates in his servos. Megatron chuckled and came closer, double checking that Knockout was being strictly professional. He hummed his approval, optics sliding over the array he was still growing used to. It was different, more plain than pre-war Orion’s but still perfect. For a moment, his tanks twisted at the thought of someone else using that array, making Orion moan and—

“Oh Primus, stop staring,” Orion muttered. His optics met Megatron’s again. 

Shifting to the side, he asked, “Is there something wrong?”

Orion was too flustered to respond, so Knockout answered for him. “Orion here,” he emphasized Orion as if it were sarcastic, “doesn’t remember the last time he had a helm to pede check up. He was also complaining about minor aches in his chassis, but everything looks good.” Knockout tightened his lips. He knew damn well why the chest of an ex-matrix holder would ache. Even if the sacrifice was willing, a mech’s frame grows accustomed to bearing something as powerful as the matrix of leadership. And for it to suddenly be gone. . . Megatron once heard it likened to phantom pain from a lost limb. 

Knockout scooted away on his rolling chair. “You can close up, Pax. Everything’s working properly. If you continue to have pain in your chassis, or if it gets worse, come back and I’ll give you some drugs to help it go away.” To Megatron he added, “I already gave him one dose, so he should be good for a while. Just be careful.”

Orion sat up and slid off the exam table. “Thank you, doctor,” he piped. 

Megatron couldn’t help but smile, or rather grin like the devil himself, at his sweet little Pax. Considerate and patient, Orion was everything that the war destroyed. To have him back was a miracle, if one believed in that sort of thing. 

“How was your first full day here?” he asked. Walking close enough that their servos brushed, they headed towards their room. 

“It was good.” Orion entwined his servo with the warlord’s. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you much. I think my spark can rest easy now that I’ve finished exploring.” He laughed lightly.

“Good,” Megatron rumbled. “I cannot stand being anywhere without you.”

At their room, they crashed together like they had the previous night. It wasn’t a question of love, rather of familiarity. At least, that was the lie Megatron told himself. With Orion, he was Megatronous again, young and naive, passionate and protective, yearning for a fresh start with the peculiar archivist. The war didn’t leave him, it couldn’t, and it showed in the aggressive way he pounded into Orion, relentlessly nipping and growling, his every instinct screaming for domination. 

Tonight was different, and Orion was pressing him into the berth, servos roaming every inch of his chassis, practiced digits digging into the seams of armor and plucking sensitive wires. Megatron stared at his servos as they trailed Orion’s hips, tweaking his aft and smooth silver thighs, the blue ridges of his hips. 

Orion straddled him, slipping onto Megatron’s erect spike, moaning at the fit. Megatron looped his digits around the back of Orion’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He tried to force his glossa into Orion’s mouth, but the mech pulled away, cocking his helm ever so slightly to the side. 

Megatron bucked his hips, but steady servos held him down. “What’s wrong,” he rumbled, when he finally made eye contact. 

“That is what I’m wondering. I understand the war with Ratchet and our distance have hurt you, changed you, but why are you so angry now?” Orion placed a digit over Megatron’s opening lips to shush him. “The first few times, you had to work the aggression out of your system, and I felt the same way. I was desperate to have you. I still crave you, Megatron, desperately, and I want to show you that.” He paused a moment, brow furrowing. “Do you remember our first coupling?”

Shame burning his circuits, Megatron nodded. “Of course.” It was the best day of his life. The pure, unadulterated bliss, the careful experimenting and agonizing burn of their passion. He told Orion he loved him when they finished. 

Orion hummed, rocking back slightly, just enough for Megatron’s depressurized spike to slide out of him. Megatron glared at his piece like it would change anything, and Orion looked at it similarly. 

“You aren’t the mech I remember,” he whispered. 

Warlord or not, that stab was enough to make his spark lurch. He shoved Orion off, ignoring the disgruntled shout and the thunk as his helm hit the wall. Towering over him, Megatron growled, “We aren’t all perfect like you, Optimus! Some of us are broken, and not even you can fix us!”

Orion, fighting his confusion and concern, tugged on Megatron’s servo. “Sweetspark,” he whispered, looking up with pleading blue optics. “Please, you’re scaring me. Come here.”

The last time he’d seen Orion like that, shaken and begging, was right before the war started, when their worlds were falling apart and their morals drove them down separate paths. Megatron twisted his servo, trying to leave like he did all those centuries ago. When Orion yanked him in retaliation, he didn’t even think. He never hit Orion Pax before. Never. Was never able to stay angry at him. But this wasn’t Orion; his processor recognized Optimus Prime, enemy, foe, arch-rival and yet, only equal. 

Orion recoiled, servos flying to his face. Megatron stared in horror when he registered what this meant. Instincts battled, half of him yearning to comfort Pax and beg for forgiveness, the other cursing to leave, not show weakness. His limbs were stiff as he turned to leave. 

“Please. . . Don’t leave me again.” 

It was barely a whisper, but more than enough to convince Megatron that weakness was subjective. He whipped around faster than he imagined possible, scooped Orion Pax off the floor, and cradled him the whole way to the medibay. 

Orion, astoundingly, fell asleep as soon as they returned. He lie, arms snug around Megatron, helm nuzzled into his neck, recharging peacefully. Megatron, on the other hand, didn’t think he would ever rest again. His internal chronometer said it was already morning, and Soundwave had pinged him to check something in the control room. Ever so carefully, he grazed a servo over Orion’s helm. The mech shifted, optics powering up. He blinked slowly before smiling and making a low churring noise. Megatron didn’t want to leave alone, but Soundwave pinged him again, and two warnings from that mech was never a good start to the day. Reluctantly prying himself free from Orion’s grasp, he stood and stretched. 

“Stay here and read,” he said. “I will be back soon.”

Orion propped himself up on an elbow, turning his helm so Megatron didn’t see as much of the swelling, discolored mesh on his face. “Promise?”

Megatron forced a grin and left. In the ship’s control room, Starscream was hunched over the main monitor. The vehicons in the room worked furiously at their stations. One, manning security, glanced up and made the mistake of optic contact. Megatron snarled but didn’t say anything. 

The mech whispered to another; “Wonder where Pax is.” 

Starscream, finally noticing Megatron’s presence, spun on his heels and bowed. “Master, a spacebridge portal has opened on the ship.” He stepped aside so the warlord could see the monitor. The portal was surrounded by drones. “Patrols are out checking the rest of the ship for similar phenomena and unwanted guests.”

Megatron grit his dentae. “Check the security footage. Make sure nothing got on my ship.”

He was only half way back to his room, to Orion, when gunshots rang out. They were on the same level, but the halls echoed so much it was difficult to pinpoint an exact location. So Megatron ran. The door was cracked open, and he shouldered past it, cannon at the ready. Orion’s chassis was clicking shut and there was a human in his servos. The light, the fiery curiosity and intense yearning, had vanished from the mech’s optics, replaced by a cold ferocity and rage. 

“Optimus Prime,” Megatron rumbled. He raised his cannon, but the motion brought with it the flood of pain from the last night. He couldn’t hurt Orion, how could he hurt Optimus? They were, always had been, one in the same. 

Megatron lowered his arm. “Go.”

Optimus stood, optics calculating. “I wish, with all my spark, that we could end this, Megatron.”

“If you  _ don’t leave _ I will do just that.” He fired up his cannon in threat, watched as they left, disappeared. He sent the call to cease fire for now and allow the Autobots to return. After all, who was he without the one and only Optimus Prime to battle for eternity?


End file.
